


Maybe music is made only for you

by Windy_Harbor



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Alternate Universe - Orchestra, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:30:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4289034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windy_Harbor/pseuds/Windy_Harbor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is a flautist who can't play the music out loud, Harry is a prodigy cellist who's entire being is compose of music. Magic happens in the rehearsal halls where music is the only language capable of describing their love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rain

            It’s finally raining again in Seattle. Louis had missed the rain; the grays skies had always comforted him in a strange way. Beethoven’s _Eroica_ is playing on the loudest volume on the radio yet Louis doesn’t hears a thing as his mom drives through the high way into downtown Seattle.

            ‘Beethoven’s flute solos are what I live for’, Louis decided as he hugged the slim case of his flute close to his chest. He says good-bye to him mom and jump into the rain head on for the rehearsal room. Louis is 45 minutes early for Seattle Youth Symphony’s first rehearsal of the season, as usual.

            The lights are off in the practice room; Louis has always called this room “the cave” for it’s enormously tall ceilings. He ignores the darkness and sits down on the last chair of the flute section. He puts in flute together and starts on the scales, majors; minors; chromatic and then etudes. He plays everything he can remember before he finally pulls out the sheet music for the winter concert: Dvorak’s 8th symphony, aka the one with the daunting flute solo, aka Louis’ nightmare.

            He well knows he will never even come close to playing the solo in the concert, it’s too important for him to mess up. He’s only a junior. Eleanor gets all the solos anyways, first chair and all. But Louis starts playing anyways, he lets the notes fly and his tempo grows faster. He gets lost in the flow of the phrases as the piercing high notes fills the rehearsal hall.

            Louis must has closed his eyes some time through the solo because when he opens them at the end of the piece the lights are on in the practice room and a tall boy is standing by the door, clapping with extreme enthusiasm.

            Louis temporarily goes in shock.

            “Opps” the boys said, smiling a shy smile as he walked into the room dragging a cello case covered with stickers. “Sorry if I scared you”.

            “Hi”, Louis forces his vocal chords act normal. Stranger-cellist-boy had the craziest mope of curly hair Louis had ever seen, he’s wearing a soft lilac sweater and OH MY GOSH, Louis thought, he’s also British. 

            “’m Harry”, Stranger-British-cellist-boy-who’s-name-is-Harry marches across the room and drops him self down on the _principal_ cello seat.

            Louis feels his brain buzzing.

            “You know, where I come from, which is London, just by the way, this is when you are suppose to introduce your self?” Harry is staring at him with big puppy eyes.

            “Right”, Louis murmurs, barley loud enough as he sets his flute down on his lap: “I’m Louis, uhm, Louis Tomlinson.” He then attempts to seem focused on fixing his fringe

            Harry nods and reaches down to open his cello case and says: “you principal?”

            Louis feels like he had just shrunk a size smaller. “Uhm, no, I’m not.”

            Harry leaves his cello between his knees and starts to rosin his bow. “Second chair then.” He says, more of a statement than question.

            Louis felt like by now he must have disappeared entirely behind his music stand, “No, I’m, I’m not second chair, actually I’m the last chair.” Louis replays, hoping than it came out to Harry less painful than it has sounded to him.

            Harry’s head of curls shoots up like he had just heard the most urgent breaking news of the century, “But, the way you were playing…”

            Harry gets cut off by their conductor Tod walking into the room. Louis loves Tod the Old Man, even though he’s very stick and smells funny, but Tod understand music the way Louis does.

            “Ah, Mr. Styles,” Tod’s face lights up as he sees Harry.

            Harry puts his cello down and stands to shake Tod’s hand. “Nice to finally meet you, Maestro Swanson.” Louis shakes at Harry’s voice, it’s too low, too deep and too emotional, just like the cello.

            Tod talks to Harry like Louis isn’t even in the room. So Louis thought it was okay for him to eardrop. He learns that Harry came from a musical conservatory in London, a child prodigy and already has a CD recorded. Tod treats Harry like he’s Yo Yo Ma.

            The rest of the orchestra shuffles in as the rain outside turns from drizzles to a downpour. The sound of tuning and warm up scales slowly fills the whole room. Louis tries not to look towards the string section, but still picks out the low rumbles of the cellos.

            Tod greats the orchestra and gives the usual first day of the season speech, he praises each and everyone of them to be “such accomplished young musicians with such promising futures”, which is probably true, for everyone in the room except Louis.

            They run through the Dvorak once and Louis learns that

  1.      He’s deeply, madly in love with every note
  2.      Eleanor completely ruins the flute solo and
  3.      Harry plays the cello like no one Louis has never heard before



            Harry is still talking to Tod after rehearsal, so Louis stalls putting away his flute. But when finally he is the only person left other than Harry and Tod he sighs and finally starts to walk out into the down pour. Ten seconds later Louis sees Tod leave with his brief case stuffed full of sheet music and his baton under his arms. Few seconds later Lour hears Harry’s foot steps towards him.

            “Why?” Harry asks before he even reaches Louis.

            “Why what?” Louis shoots back, a raindrop falling onto his eyelashes.

             “Why d’you let her play the solo?” Louis decides that Harry’s voice blends in very well with the rain.

             Louis shrugs “She’s first chair.”

             “Your better.” Harry says, a bit to quick, a bit to loud.

             Louis lets loose a chuckle as he sees his mom’s car pull up the driveway.

             “Well, I’ll see you next rehearsal then, don’t forget to practice your scales Curly!” Louis gets out before he can regret it and climbs into the car before he can hear Harry’s response.

             “Hey baby” Louis mom says softly, looking back at him from the driver’s seat, “Who was that lovely young man?”

             Louis thinks about his answer for a while: “Jacqueline Du Pré’s reincarnation, probably.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, this is my first published work, I hope you liked it :)   
> Here's the Dvorak 8th symphony with the flute solo by Emmanuel Pahud  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaDl9js_OR4


	2. Atonality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ATONALITY   
> in its broadest sense is music that lacks a tonal center, or key.  
> Meaning that in music, not notes were wrong

        They settle in to a habit of coming to rehearsal early. Neither of them turn on the lights or move from their assigned orchestra seats. They talk across the room: Louis in the flute section and Harry right next to the conductor’s podium. Actually, Louis thinks that mostly Harry talks, and he listens with his eyes on his music stand.

        Harry talks to Louis about everything, he talks about the piece they’re playing; about the conservatory in England; about his cat whom Harry has named Mozart. Harry talks so much that Louis thinks that they _must_ be considered friends by now. The only time Louis opens his mouth to speak is when he asks Harry to play cello for him. And Harry does. Harry plays Louis Bach’s Cello Suits, Rachmaninov’s Cello Sonata and Schuman’s Concerto. Harry plays Louis more and more pieces that he seems to have memorized and engraved in his heart. Harry plays him everything and yet Louis never even touches his flute when they are alone before rehearsal. But Harry doesn’t bring it up. Harry just sits and plays cello like he’s trying to change the whole world with every note.

        In early October they get their first sectionals rehearsal, run by each of the Principals. Louis sits through Eleanor’s speech with his ear buds in, she gets furious at him. Louis thinks that it’s a good thing he doesn’t give a single shit about how Eleanor thinks he should be playing the Dvorak.

        Louis stays after rehearsal that day and sneaks into the Concert Hall when he thinks everyone is gone. All the lights are off in the large theater as Louis takes center stage in the darkness. The cushioned seats in the audience look to him like a million tiny black holes trying knock him off his feet.

        Louis takes a deep breath and brings his flute up to his chin and feels his skin start to warm the cold metal lip plate. Louis thinks that he started off playing the Concerto for flute by Chaminade, but some how half way through the Andante he’s totally run off and started to play a variation of his own imagination. The note that comes out off he flute paints a picture of chocolate curls and green eyes.

        The song in his head ends as he plays out the last vibrato on the final note. The empty theater with the empty audience gives Louis their empty applause.

        Louis still bows with his flute in one hand, as he starts to stand up straight he catches a shadow by the last row of seats and his ears catches a whisper: “Louis”.

        The shadow starts walking towards Louis and starts to take shape of an outline of a head of curls.

        “Harry,” Louis says as he shakes his head, “you’re still here, don’t you have a curfew to make?” His grip tightens on his flute.

        Harry grins as he walks up to the stage and hauls him self up to sit on the edge of the stage. Louis tries to tell him self that it’s a bad idea, but his body moves to join Harry anyways. But, well, at least he tried.

        “That piece you played made no sense, theory wise, it was a jumbo mess of major and minor scales”, Harry say, there’s an awkward silence that follows and Louis holds his breath. Harry looks up at him and his face is a confused mess that so appropriately matches his hair. “It was almost like Igor Stravinsky,” he says as he leans sideways into Louis’ shoulder and hovers his hand over Louis’ flute, which is sitting on his lap. Louis thinks that maybe he is dying of the lack of oxygen by now. He wants to smell Harry’s hair, but he’s afraid that he might explode if he takes a single breath. Harry’s hand fidgets a little as he jumps off of the stage and out of Louis. He starts to walk towards the exit and turns back mid way: “I thought it was the best thing I’ve ever heard on flute.”

        Louis lets himself sit and sink into the darkness for five minutes until he is sure that Harry has left the building and whispers to the empty concert hall: “It was for you.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cécile Chaminade's concerto for flute and piano, by Sir James Galway.   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F2Gn_FpTXD0


End file.
